A/N: This is my first attempt at a humor fic. It's been collecting dust on my hard drive for some time now, ever since watching "Tigh Me Up, Tigh Me Down" put me in a rather weird mood. I thought I'd post it because after "Baptism," I need something to lighten the tone. Rated for occasional language and . . . ah . . . themes. Hope you enjoy!

"Come on, Starbuck, you've gotta get me out of here." I kept my voice low and hunched over the telephone. The bulkhead separating me from the XO's quarters was thin, and the hatch partially ajar. "I'll take your CAP, fix your fighter, put you down for a frakkin' medal of honor, just get me out." Ellen Tigh's drunken laughter reached me, and I winced involuntarily.

Laughter of a very different sort rolled through the receiver. It was accompanied by the clink of glasses and scattered cheers and groans. I pictured Starbuck in the officers' break room, a mug of Tyrol's homebrew in front of her, happily gambling a bunch of ECO's out of house and home. My scowl deepened. If she didn't get me out of this, I was going to find something exhausting, boring, and messy for Starbuck to do in her on-duty hours.

I swear I could hear the smirk in Kara's voice even through the static of the phone line. "Come on, Apollo. Aren't CAGs supposed to be courageous in the grip of danger, stalwart at the touch of suffering . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Or better yet, here's an idea: why don't you come up with an emergency to get me out of this nightmare. We'll get a few drinks, have some laughs at my expense, and live to be frakked with another day."

"Yeah, or we could do all that but without the part where I bail you out." Another snicker. I glared at the phone, as if she could see me through it. "How'd you get roped into this again, anyway?"

"Colonel Tigh has a strange idea of hospitality. Remember that dinner the Old Man held to 'celebrate' Ellen coming back to Galactica? The Tighs decided to return the favor."

"I still don't see what this has to do with you. Colonel Frakked-Up doesn't even like you."

"You think he'd inflict his wife on someone he liked? He invited Roslin, but she bowed out, and the Old Man's a big chicken."

"Careful, that's my CO you're talking about." Starbuck's amusement clearly hadn't faded.

I growled. "The man spits in the face of the Cylon Empire, but ask him to spend five minutes in a room with Ellen and he goes begging for a wing mate."

Starbuck snorted. I pictured her taking a long drag from her hoagie, blowing smoke at the receiver. "Okay, just for that when I bail you out, it's gonna be really embarrassing."

"So you are on your way?"

Kara allowed a self-satisfied pause. "Never leave a man behind, that's what they teach at the Academy. Even if he is a whiny cry-baby."

"You're the best, Kara."

"Yeah, you say that now." There was a chorus of snickers from the other end of the line. Apparently Kara and her drinking buddies were in on something. "Hang tight. I'll be there in five."

"Captain Apollo?" A singsong feminine voice reached me. "D'you get lost?" Frak!

"Gotta go, Starbuck, I'm supposed to be in the head." I slammed the phone down and turned, hoping my face looked sufficiently innocent. Plastering what I hoped was a winning smile on my face, I pushed through the hatch into the XO's quarters. "Sorry, Mrs. Tigh. Duty called."

Saul Tigh laughed loudly. The four of us were well into the second course, and ambrosia was flowing freely. The small quarters were almost completely filled by the square table Ellen had found. I edged around it, and took my seat across from Mrs. Tigh. Dad shot me a death glare. He knew an escape attempt when he saw it.

I looked down at my plate and forced myself to take a bite. Galactica food wasn't any better when it was served in courses. At least the ambrosia was good. I took a long draught. There was a vicious cycle at these parties; the Tighs drank, which forced Dad and me to drink as a coping mechanism. Encouraged by our mild inebriation, Saul and Ellen responded by drinking more. I hope Earth is big, because when we get there, I'm putting several continents between myself and the Tighs.

I forced myself not to flinch when Ellen slid a bare foot up my leg, but I did slide my chair back a few inches. Dad and the Colonel were trading war stories; they didn't notice. A slight pout appeared on Ellen's sloppy face. She could poke at my knees with her toes, but my move had put her out of striking distance of anything more sensitive. I took another bite, pretending not to notice.

Five minutes had never felt so long. Raucous laughter roared around me. I didn't contribute much to the conversation. For that matter, neither did Dad. We were well into our fourth bottle, and by this point the Tighs could carry on several conversations with almost no outside input. If Kara didn't get here soon, Galactica was going to be short an XO. And a CAG, since Dad wouldn't appreciate my double homicide.

Finally, there was a sharp rap on the hatch. Dad glanced at Saul, but "Colonel Frakked-Up" was in stitches over some joke Ellen had told and hadn't noticed. Dad sighed. "Enter," he barked. The door swung open to admit Kara Thrace, in full uniform, her expression uncharacteristically serious. She snapped a quick salute—a crisp gesture, not her usual sarcastic wave. My father noticed the difference. "What is it, Starbuck?"

"Sorry for interrupting, sir, but it's urgent I speak with the CAG." I breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment, I'd been imagining a real emergency.

Dad's face clouded. "Captain Adama is off-duty. Surely you can manage for a few hours." He always could smell a ditch-attempt from a mile away.

Starbuck didn't flinch. "I'm sorry if it's an inconvenient time, sir, but we have a situation with one of the Vipers."

The Commander's jaw tightened. "I think you'd better elaborate."

"Yes sir. We . . . noticed evidence of sabotage on one of the Mark II's. We suspect Cylon involvement." I stifled a groan and prayed that Starbuck hadn't actually broken something.

Dad's expression brightened almost imperceptibly. "Cylon involvement? That's quite serious, maybe I'd better have a look." The subtext was clear: he'd take anything—even Cylon infiltrators—over spending another hour in this room.

Kara didn't bat an eye. "We thought about that sir, but that's probably not the most prudent choice. We're pretty sure the saboteur is concealing his actions under the context of a harmless practical joke. We don't want to draw undue attention to it until we know what we're dealing with."

Dad glared. "The CAG is busy at the moment. He can look at the Viper during his duty hours." Is it irreverent to say the Commander was sulking?

Only Kara could have saved me from that trap. She didn't lose her cool. Her tone was deferential as she said "With all respect, sir, a minute ago you thought the threat was serious enough to take a look yourself."

That wasn't what Dad wanted to hear. He glared from Kara's impassive face to mine. I silently thanked one of my old Academy Sergeants who'd liked to split the lips of cadets who smiled at inappropriate times. Finally, the Commander growled four words: "The Captain is dismissed." His face suggested that it had cost him pain to say them. He shot one last glare at Kara, then at me. It was the look he saved for Cylon spies and privates who played Triad in CIC. The look said I-will-have-you-thrown-out-an-airlock-as-soon-as-I-figure-out-how-you-orchestrated-this.

I stood, murmured "yes sir," and fled before he could change his mind. "I expect a full report!" Dad called after me.

Kara is a much better actress than I've given her credit for. She made it all the way down the corridor and around the corner before collapsing in giggles. Her eyes were starting to tear as she clapped me on the back. "The look on their faces!"

I grinned. "Thanks, Kara. I owe you big."

She raised her eyebrows. "You owe me huge. I might have to take your firstborn over this."

I kept my face mock serious. "Wellll . . . that can be arranged . . ."

She laughed, slapped me upside the head, and jogged a few paces ahead. Spinning to walk backwards while facing me, she dug in her pocket. "Got a sympathy gift for you." She pulled out a small jar and tossed it to me. I screwed the top off and sniffed. It was a half-liter of Tyrol's best—and very horrible—homebrew.

I took an appreciative sip. "Thanks."

"Any time. Though from the smell of you, you probably don't need it. Haven't you learned by now not to try to keep up with Tigh?"

"If you had been in that room, you would understand." I glanced around. "Hey, where are we going?" The rec room was in the opposite direction.

Kara gave me one of her ear-to-ear grins. "Starboard Hangar Bay, brain trust. You have a report to write for the good Commander?"

That snapped me out of my slight haze. "Starbuck," I began slowly, "In the name of every god you treasure, please tell me you did not actually wreck a Viper over this."

Starbuck rolled her eyes. "Relax, CAG, I like my ass right where it is—attached to my body. Now come on, they're waiting on us!" She broke into a jog again, forcing me to run too or be left behind. As we neared the hangar bay, I noticed something strange: a large number of off-duty pilots seemed to be hanging around. Racetrack nodded as I breezed by. Round-faced Chuckles gave me a smile that seemed far too innocent. Kat giggled into the back of her hand. Then I rounded the corner into the bay, and things got a thousand times worse.

It was a regular party in the hangar bay. Boomer and Crashdown lounged on a cart, swapping lewd jokes. Hammerhead and Skulls rolled dice in a corner. A triad game had started on an overturned crate. And in the middle of the deck, behind a grinning Hotdog, stood my Viper Mark II.

I stared at it for a full ten seconds. "Oh, no, Starbuck . . . No!" A few cans of the red paint we use for thousandth landings were scattered around the deck. From the looks of things, my loyal pilots had made good use of their contents in "improving" my poor bird's paint job. I stepped close so I could read the graffiti splashed across her hull.

"Property of Captain Kangaroo"

"CAG: Cute Ass Goober"

"Pretty Boy Flying"

The humiliation went on and on. I stepped slowly around, stopping by the portside name plate. There were the familiar words "Apollo" Cpt. Lee Adama, but under them were large, red letters in very familiar handwriting.

"You're Welcome, Daddy's Boy"

I gave Kara a look of utter betrayal. She just grinned wider and offered me a solvent-soaked rag. "You'd better get scrubbing, Captain, I hear you have a report to write."

Fin

A/N: Liked it? Hated it? Chuckled a little? Laughed at my expense? I won't know unless you tell me, so leave a little review!